


there but for the grace of god go i

by engeeo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blumentrio, Coming In Pants, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Episode: c02e126 Worth Fighting For, F/M, Face-Sitting, M/M, Praise Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, are you in love with the person or what that person represents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engeeo/pseuds/engeeo
Summary: Caleb and Astrid run into each other at an old haunt.
Relationships: Astrid/Caleb Widogast, Astrid/Eodwulf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Astrid/Caleb in chapter 1. Astrid/Caleb/Eadwulf in chapter 2.

Astrid is restless.

Her heart races, and she cannot control it. The paperwork in front of her swims in her vision, the undulating magical lights of her manor exacerbating the psychedelic experience. Something wet trickles across her right hand, and she realizes, alarmed, that she has snapped a quill that she was clenching over her desk.

“ _Scheiße_ ,” Astrid curses. With a flick of her hand, the ink flies from the pages of her work and the lacquered surface of her table, evaporating into air. She finds her slipping into her native Zemnian more and more often these days. Her treacherous mind has been threatening to pull her under, into the deep, forgotten melancholy she has watched too many of her peers give in to. She decided, long ago, that she would not be its victim. And still she will not.

Astrid rises from her desk and makes for the wash basin. She scrubs her hands diligently in the clear water, the ink quickly turning the water foggy and opaque as it obfuscates the reflection staring back at her. A quick dry with a nearby towel confirms her fears - the ink has stained her skin. She sighs, but the murky water does not reply. It will fade, eventually.

Outside her washroom, the elegant foyer of her manor awaits. Its dark wood floors and rich, wine-colored carpets had once captivated her as a young girl, promising a life unlike anything she could have ever dreamed back in Blumenthal. She doesn’t even remember when it faded into the banality of everyday life. 

Her eyes come to rest on the bottle of clear liquor sitting on the half-moon table by the door. There are two glasses, untouched, flanking it on either side. It has been a while since she has entertained guests. She briefly considers Messaging Wulf, and although she is certain that he will respond positively to any late night call involving drinks, she hesitates. Eadwulf is too much like her, and she is tired of looking at her reflections.

Astrid makes a decision. She grabs the bottle and the glasses. Anyone watching the outside of 31 Woadstone Manor would see the estate’s curtains suddenly pick up a gust of wind, flapping from a quick, internal displacement of air before coming to rest once again, slowly rolling in the night wind.

***

The dance hall is empty. It is the dead of night, after all. The door was locked, too, although Astrid hadn’t even had to release her alcohol to open it with a bit of arcane muttering. When she had first arrived in Rexxumtrum, it was the preponderance of locked doors that had surprised her the most. Everything was locked away, clutched close to people’s bodies, closer still to their hearts. Fortunately, she was a quick study.

Inside the hall, the floor is newly mopped and stools are stacked upside down on the counter. The smell of damp wood and alcohol brings a pang of nostalgia to her chest, and Astrid can’t help but run a hand along the smooth wood of the bar’s counter. She knows that if she runs her thumb just under its outwardmost corner, she will find the familiar grooves of two names burned into its wood. Another scar, more than a decade old, unhealed.

The door creaks open behind her.

“You are not supposed to be here,” a voice says. She doesn’t need to turn to know who it belongs to, but she does anyway. It is Bren, stating the obvious. Astrid doesn’t know if he means that she is not supposed to be here, in this building after hours, or sharing this unnegotiated space with him.

“I could say the same to you, Bren,” she replies. He doesn’t flinch at the name, but responds to it:

“I have not been here in a while,” he admits. “Not like this.” His eyes flicker to the corner of the counter Astrid stands by, then scans the entire room. He will find that not a single inch of it has changed, Astrid knows. Every late night Bren had broken into this hall, she had been there alongside him.

Astrid rests the bottle she has been holding on the bar counter with a dull thump. Two, lighter clinks follow as she places the glasses she has been carrying. She hadn’t even realized she had grabbed both. “It has been a while,” she agrees. “I take it you couldn’t sleep?”

Bren shakes his head. They’d always snuck out of their dorms when they’d been feeling restless.

“Neither could I,” she admits. The amulet around Bren’s neck glints in the moonlight, and Astrid adjusts her cloak so that he can see the twin pendant around her own. A beat - and Bren steps inside. There’s a shared understanding that this meeting is off the record, illegible to anyone but the two of them.

Astrid begins to pour two glasses.

***

They are huddled on a bench overlooking the dance floor, just as they had when they were still Blumenthal’s finest exports in over a century, giggling about a spell their classmate had fumbled or the latest Academy gossip. Astrid’s heart soars in fondness, a lurch so high that it feels like she is falling. The cold weight of her amulet is soothing against her beating heart. They are never safe, she knows, not truly. But for tonight, when it is just the two of them, it is enough to know they cannot be watched.

“Do you remember when,” Bren begins, “Wulf swore he would find a way to sneak into the upperclassmen’s quarters?”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who encouraged him,” she says, hiding her smile in the glass of her drink.

“No,” he says, and he turns his head to her, cradling his glass between his knees. “I told him that there was no way he could get past the advanced abjurative locks on the sixth floor, because they were designed for the older students.”

“You told him it took you four tries.”

“Three,” he corrects her, and Astrid can practically hear the sheepish smile in voice. When she turns to meet his gaze, the familiar blue of his eyes nearly knocks the wind from her chest. They are no longer the same people they were a decade ago, she knows, but that distance seems to shorten with every sip of her drink.

“You were a troublemaker,” she reprimands, but there’s no bite behind her words. “But you were the best of us, Bren.”

A shiver runs through him, then, as he tips back the rest of his drink. “Maybe,” he says, looking away. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Bren,” she says. Her fingers grip the edge of the wooden bench they sit on. His head turns, but he is still eyeing the ground. 

“I can’t go back.” He is telling himself as much as he is telling her, a confession and reminder in one. 

Astrid’s hand reaches out to cup his cheek. He looks up at her then with heavy-lidded eyes, dark pupils swimming in pools of blue. They bring their foreheads together, nose to nose, as they used to do so many times before, and sit in shared closeness for a beat. Astrid feels a gloved hand come up to her cheek - her left side, the side without her scars - a familiar feeling from long ago. She hears him sigh. So close she can feel his breath against her mouth. And now that they are slotted together, it seems only natural, a movement of habit that her lips travel closer, her nose brushing against his as she pulls him into a kiss.

It takes a moment for her to remember to breathe. She is certain she is kissing the same lips from those many years ago, and they are teenagers again, necking in a closet before class, taking any excuse to sneak into each other’s dorms.

“Astrid,” he breathes against her lips. He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, against her jawline, to the crook of her neck. Astrid feels her body warm, very quickly. “Is this okay?” Bren murmurs into her skin.

Astrid nods. “Yes. Bren - ” she gasps as his mouth reaches under the collar of her cloak.

“Can I - ”

“Touch me,” she says, starting to shrug off her robes, exposing her shoulders, then her chest - Bren helps her, until her naked upper torso shivers in the cold Rexxentrum air. She guides a hand to her breast, his thumb gently circling a stiff nipple as his mouth makes its way down to her collarbone, her chest, before finally laving at her unattended breast. Astrid whimpers. It is all too much and not enough. “ _Scheiße,_ I need... “

Bren is already rising from his seat, his mouth stealing a final kiss from her as he kneels in the space between her legs. His thumbs press firm, insistent circles into her inner thighs. “May I…?” he asks, as though her request couldn’t be more obvious, his face hovering inches from where she needs him.

She nods. “Yes, yes, yes.” The words fall from her mouth in quick succession. Her hands fumble to push her robes out of the way, exposing her damp underwear and bare thighs. When her hands reach to hurriedly discard her undergarments, Bren takes it from her grasp, gently sliding her underwear at an agonizingly slow pace down her legs. He lavishes her thighs with wet kisses, and Astrid can physically feel herself growing needier with every moment that passes. She impatiently kicks away her underwear once it’s around her boots. Bren wastes no time, his fingers coming to pull apart her folds and sweeping his tongue against her slit.

Astrid moans, pressing a hand belatedly to her mouth. Her free hand runs down Bren’s scalp, pulling him closer. “You are so good, Bren - ”

She hears him moan in pleasure between her legs. His nose brushes against her clit as she greedily rocks against his mouth. She can feel her own slick against his face as she guides his wet mouth to her clit - Bren is a quick study, she knows this, and he quickly gets the idea as he latches onto her swollen clit, a finger brushing against her opening. There’s little resistance as the first finger slides in to his knuckle. The added stimulus is enough to make her moan in the silence of the hall, the only sound aside from Bren’s finger moving in and out of her.

“Good, good, you are so good - ” Astrid whispers nonsensically. A second digit enters her, brushing against her walls as she clenches around it. “Keep going, right there -” She can feel herself nearly at the edge, her orgasm building as she holds Bren’s head between her legs, riding his fingers and his face. The tips of his fingers find the right spot - and she comes in gasps, her breath stuttering as she rides out her orgasm until she can’t anymore, too sensitive.

She pulls Bren’s head away gently, and he moans, panting heavily. His eyes are glazed over in desire, an obvious tent in his trousers that he paws at with his other hand.

“Come here,” she says. She slowly extracts herself from his fingers and beckons him forward. Bren approaches her on his knees, and she extends one leg so that it lies between his legs; she can feel his covered cock bump against her shin. “Good boy,” she says, leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Bren whines and rocks against her leg. “Come on, Bren,” she says. She holds him steady with a hand, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as he desperately bucks against her, looking for friction. “Come for me.”

Bren gasps - “Astrid,” he says, practically a whisper, “Astrid, Astrid,” - and comes for her.

They lay in silence for a while, the only sound between them their heavy breathing. Astrid knows there remains the task of cleaning up after themselves, but for now, she is content to stare at the ceiling of the dance hall, the same one she’d looked at ten years ago.

“They changed the counter,” he finally says. 

“What?”

“The grain,” Caleb elaborates, like this is very obvious. “It used to run west, but it runs to the east now.” He doesn’t look at her, instead fixating on a point on the ceiling. “Maybe it got old, or someone broke it, or they found a different use for it. I don’t know, but it’s changed.” He pauses. “I didn’t notice it at first,” he admits.

Astrid double-checks the pendant around her neck. She clutches it in her fist as though she might insulate it against her private thoughts, feeling its warm against her skin. She’s surprised to find that her heart rate is steady.

“Neither did I,” she says aloud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I wasn't planning for there to be a second chapter of this. Technically takes place right after the last chapter, but operates on porn logic more than anything else. ;-)

They nearly trip over themselves entering Astrid’s manor. She pushes the door open with a hip, her hands tangled alternatingly in Bren’s robes and hair, clutching him like she’s afraid he’ll be swept away by a swift breeze. Whatever the future brings, she will not lose him tonight. Not again. 

Bren moans into her mouth when her fingernails dig into his scalp. His hair is so much longer now, and his beard scratches at her face. She knows that she, too, has changed - she’s gained a multitude of scars since they’ve last met: some faded, some deep, others which had never appeared on her body - but most of all, she is simply  _ older _ , marked by the inexorable passage of time. But right now, time is precisely what she does not have, because Bren’s mouth is hot and wet against her own, insistently tugging at her lips as a hand on her lower back presses their bodies flush together. She feels him grind against her stomach, sending a surge of desire rushing to her core.

“I hope I am not interrupting.”

Astrid startles, a hand defensively pushing Bren aside. There’s already a spell forming at her lips when she recognizes the interloper - Wulf pushes off from the console he was leaning against, his arms folded across his broad chest.

“Wulf,” she breathes. She feels Bren stiffen under her grasp. “What are you doing here?”

Eadwulf raises his eyebrows, as though there is another, more pointed question he would like to ask her, but refrains from asking. “My mission concluded early.” His gaze flicks to Bren as he speaks, hesitant to share more information than necessary. “I thought I’d stop by.”

“You came to debrief,” she extrapolates. Behind her, Bren begins to gently extract himself from her grip, clearly intending to leave as gracefully as possible.

Eadwulf raises a single hand. “I came to destress,” he clarifies. “I wished to share a drink, but your usual fare was missing.”

“Sorry,” Bren mutters behind her. She knows he’s clutching the stem of the empty bottle. “We’re all out.”

There’s a beat - no one says it, but Astrid hears it -  _ there’s another way to destress _ . She looks to Bren, then Wulf, the two of them sizing each other up. Wulf flexes bare arms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It almost makes her roll her eyes, but she knows it’s not for her.

“I’m going to my bedroom,” she announces finally. She resists the urge to take a final glance at Bren, afraid that the act of looking will consummate his banishment to some place beyond her reach. It’s a leap of faith. Her hand brushes his chest as she leaves.

A moment passes. Another, and then there are footsteps behind her - the worn gait of adventuring leathers, then the crisp step of Scourger boots. As she opens the door to her bedroom, she feels a nose brush against her left shoulder, the tickle of a beard against her skin. Bren gently buries his face into the crook of her neck, drinking in her presence. Astrid sighs in satisfaction and rests her head against his. They stay like this for a moment, cradling each other on the threshold of her room. A gentle bump against their bodies informs her that Wulf has arrived.

“Come,” she says, pulling Bren in by the hands. “Lie down.” She sits on the edge of her bed, indicating for him to lay next to her. He obliges, and Eadwulf follows close on his heels. Wulf takes a seat to his right, a hand stroking Bren’s knee. Astrid carefully arranges herself so she doesn’t sit on the fan of orange hair spread across her blankets. She leans in for a kiss, one hand holding her hair behind an ear as she does so. It’s soft, at first, toying with his lips and teasing him with her tongue. When she pulls away, Bren whines and tries to chase her mouth. 

“Astrid,” he moans. She watches Wulf’s ministrations move dangerously up his legs, his calloused thumbs rubbing circles in his inner thighs. “Wulf,  _ fuck _ ,” he whispers. He closes his eyes, his body sagging into the soft blankets around him.

Astrid can’t help but smile with affection as she begins to disrobe. She pulls off her heavy coat, letting it fall to the floor before unclasping the black robes she wears underneath. Wulf continues to coax sighs from Bren as his hands move in insistent patterns around his tight pants. “Clothes,” she murmurs, nude, dipping down to steal a kiss.

Between the two of them, they’re quick to discard the outer layers of his clothing. His coat, scarf, and tunic are deposited somewhere on the other side of the bed, their exact location currently unimportant. When she reaches for the hem of his undershirt, however, Bren gently pushes her hand away. “Leave the shirt on, please,” he whispers hoarsely. Eadwulf has started to stroke him through his pants, and his breath comes in ragged pants.

“Of course,” she says. He inclines his head upwards to kiss her, a hand tracing her ribs and the soft flesh under her breasts. “And your pants?” she asks, breaking away for a moment.

“Mm,” Bren says. “Off, please.” His hands reach for his waistband, but Wulf has beaten him to it, unbuckling his belt with ease and undoing his trousers. With some cooperation on Bren’s part, his pants and boots are shucked from his lower body, revealing his hard cock weeping against his stomach. Astrid keeps him occupied with a hand under his shirt, stroking his torso and pressing wet kisses to his neck and collarbone.

“You look good like this, Bren,” Wulf says. He’s positioned himself between the other man’s legs, his hands holding his thighs apart. Bren adjusts his hips to give him better access as Wulf loosely fists his cock and strokes it a few times. His ankles wrap around Wulf’s hips, and Astrid hears the sound of fabric rustling and a belt buckle being undone. There’s muttering, too, that Astrid recognizes as a lubrication spell. Bren whimpers, and Astrid swallows his moans in a kiss.

She brings his hands back to her breasts, where he thumbs her nipples to hardness. She sighs in pleasure as she feels the warmth pool between her legs, one hand rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger as another traces lower down her body. A thumb finds her clit, then slides between her folds to gather the slickness there. She’s unmistakably wet. She grinds against his fingers a little, and the room is filled with the twin sounds of digital exploration; Wulf, too, finding a use for his fingers on the other side of the bed.

Astrid lazily watches as Wulf slowly adds a second finger to Bren’s hole, his wrist moving in and out at a gentle but steady pace. Bren groans and shudders, his hand instinctively reaching for his cock - Wulf bats it away, bending over to replace it with his tongue as he traces a path from the base to his pretty cock’s flushed tip.

“Wulf, I will not last - “ he manages to croak out. She swears she sees Eadwulf smile - she hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d seen it last.

Wulf presses a final kiss to his cock before relenting. “He could use a distraction,” he says.

Astrid nods, sex-drunk and blissful, as she swings her legs around to straddle Bren’s chest. She’s pleased to see his pupils blown wide, his lids heavy with pleasure. His lips automatically part as his eyes dart to her mound. “Good boy,” she says, sliding two fingers between his lips. Bren sucks obediently, softly whimpering as his hips stop rocking - Wulf must be entering him.

Taking her cue, she leans forward so her cunt rests just over his lips, slowly lowering herself onto his face. Bren laps at her eagerly, burying his face between her folds. He licks her entrance, just shy of penetration, and sucks at her lips as he coaxes her clit with his tongue. With a broad, flat stroke, he swipes along the length of her sex as she grinds into the pressure.

“Bren,” she moans. He flicks her clit with a series of rapid strokes, and Astrid has to steady herself with a hand gripping the sheets. “Bren, Bren,” she chants. “Good, you are so good.” She rocks into his mouth with fervor as the mattress begins to sway. She can feel Eadwulf thrusting into him - short, experimental thrusts now that he’s bottomed out. Bren moans in pleasure under her, faltering for a moment until her cunt presses insistently against his mouth.

Behind her, she hears Wulf’s breathing grow labored as his rhythmic thrusts quicken. She rides his face at a similar pace, Bren desperately trying to keep up with his tongue.

“Come on,” she says. Bren whines against her clit but doesn’t relent, tongue moving rapidly across her bud. She can feel her pleasure building as the bed rocks under them. Eadwulf’s huffs are noticeably louder. “That’s it,” she babbles. “Good, good boy, Bren.” Her thighs are covered in her own slick, dampening Bren’s face and the sheets. His lips seal around her clit, and she moans, shamelessly grinding her hips into his face as he sucks and laps at her pace. Somewhere, distantly, Wulf groans and someone who sounds like her whispers, “Bren, Bren,” and she feels an orgasm about to crest as a tongue swipes at her clit and there is a long, winding string of time that is rapidly compressed when its two ends are brought together and she comes, loudly, on her lover’s face.

Astrid is boneless when she slides off Bren’s chest. No longer tasked with someone else’s pleasure, Bren’s head lolls in bliss as he watches Wulf slide in and out of him. His hard cock bounces on the flat plane of his stomach with every thrust. Astrid presses a soft kiss to his chafed lips, drinking in his moans as her hand reaches down to wrap around his cock. “Come on, Bren,” she says. Her hand pumps his shaft up and down to the rhythm of Wulf’s thrusting. “Good boy. Come on,” she says. “Come for me.” Bren moans into her mouth as he bucks into her fist, spilling across her hand and stomach. Wulf follows soon after, and he pulls out, flaccid, cum leaking from Bren’s hole.

“Fuck,” Bren says. He covers his eyes with a hand as he quietly laughs to himself in disbelief. He tugs his undershirt up where it’s fallen just below his shoulder - Astrid catches a glimpse of what might be a tattoo, but it’s too quick to tell. She remembers the new markings her own body has, and, suddenly self-conscious about how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other naked, pulls a robe around her shoulders. Wulf is already tucking himself back into his pants. “Wulf,” Bren says, without looking up.

“I have to report in early tomorrow,” he says. He doesn’t make any move towards the door.

Astrid doesn’t say anything. She continues to recline in the space next to Bren, careful not to settle on top of his loose hair.

“Yes. If we don’t see each other again…”

“We will,” Eadwulf huffs, as though the repeated interference of the self-styled “Mighty Nein” in their affairs is as inescapable as the sun rising, or the flowers blooming. (It is, Astrid thinks. Or perhaps it’s the other way around.)

_ You can stay _ , she wants to say, to both but mostly to one, even though she knows it cannot be. The time to stay has passed. She strokes Bren’s hair with the back of her hand. He can’t stay - he has already left. All that remains, she thinks, is for them to follow.

“Let’s go,” she says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”


End file.
